


Snow People

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Mild Angst, revival era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: For a tumblr challenge: Snow





	Snow People

For a long time now, Scully has hated snow.  For most, the fat white flakes are magical and beautiful, but she only sees them as ominous and foreboding.  Too many bad things in her life are associated with snow: Arctic worms, barking dogs and Frankenstein-inspired doctors, Antarctica, and William’s first and only cold.  It’s the memory of her son flinching in pain as snowflakes kissed his overheated cheeks that hurts the most; the way his misery-filled blue eyes met hers as if to ask, why have you let this happen to me?

 

For the years of her life she lived in hiding with Mulder, the snow was the least of her burdens.  Besides which, she’d gone two whole winters without seeing a drop of it when they were holed up in New Mexico.  Before settling and going back to work, she could ignore its existence as much as possible.

 

Every winter now, she watches forlornly out the window when the snow hits, wishing it would go away and stop bothering her.  This year especially, when things have been so much better between her and Mulder, she wishes it would leave them alone.  Yet, it started snowing overnight and by the time they wake up, the lawn is blanketed in white and the sky is completely full of dull grey clouds that block the sun.

 

“The news is predicting a blizzard,” Mulder says, lacing his boots up by the front door.

 

She pensively pulls her brows together and twists her fingers into the terry cloth collar of her robe to hold it closed.  It’s warm in the house, but shielding herself is reflexive.  

 

“Where are you going?” she asks, swallowing the fear she feels rising in her throat.  She has to blink hard to clear the image in her head of him with an open wound on his head and snowflakes in his hair.

 

“Should’ve put your car in the shed last night,” he answers, standing and plucking his jacket off the peg behind the door.

 

She looks out the window again.  Her car is a white lump beneath the trees.  Last night snow was merely a possibility, and now a blizzard.  It’s like these things always come without a warning and a should’ve known better in hindsight.

 

“Do you want help?” she asks, glancing at her own overcoat that hung beside his.  It wasn’t the best defense against a blizzard.

 

“Nah.”  He smiles as he pulls his gloves on.  “I’m going to need you to warm me up when I get done.”

 

“I’ll draw you a bath.”

 

He chuckles and steps closer to put his hands on her hips.  She turns her eyes up to his, but let’s them fall half-closed when he dips his head and kisses the corner of her mouth.  

 

“We can build a snowman if you want,” he whispers at her cheek.  “When was the last time you played in the snow?”

 

“I don’t remember.”

 

“You okay, Scully?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

She can tell by the way he looks at her when he pulls his head back that he doesn’t truly believe her.  It’s been a long time since she’s lied to him like that, but she is fine, if not a bit melancholy.  It’s just the damn snow, but she feels foolish.

 

“Go,” she says, smiling for him and hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans.  “Go do what you have to do outside and I’ll have the bath waiting.”

 

“Will you be in it?”

 

She smiles again and shoves him back with a light push on his hips.  The wind flutters the pages of a newspaper on the table when he opens the door.  The screen door sticks slightly, the hinges iced over from the cold.  She hears the crunch of boots on snow at the top of the porch before he shuts the door and then silence.

 

From the kitchen, she watches Mulder move around the back of the house to the shed for the snow shovel.  He yanks hard on one of the doors and has to kick it the rest of the way open to get past the accumulation of snow.  He comes back out with the shovel a few minutes later and she goes upstairs to run the bath.  The sound of it drowns out the scrape of metal against snow.

 

There’s a small, circular window on one wall of the bathroom.  She stares at it while the water runs.  Snow has stuck to the glass so that it’s completely whited out.  It’s like staring at nothing.  It’s disconcerting and yet fascinating.  She can’t seem to look away.

 

Finally, the bathwater reaches her fingertips that have been dangling over the sides of the tub and she tears her gaze away to turn the taps off.  She can hear the scrape of the shovel again and the drip of the faucet next to her.

 

She gets up and tries to shake the unease away from herself.  There’s no reason for it.  Not now.  They aren’t on a case.  No one’s in danger.  The only thing to fear is Mulder slipping on ice and spraining an ankle.  Or knocking himself unconscious.  Her heart speeds up a bit.  She can’t hear the scraping anymore.

 

She takes the stairs two at a time and peers out the front window.  The car is gone, tracks leading around the back of the house, but the snow has already begun to smooth them over.  She goes to the kitchen and looks out the window.  The doors to the shed are closed.  The direction of the footprints she sees are indeterminable from her angle.

 

Without thinking, she grabs her overcoat and pulls the front door open.  She turns her cheek away from the icy wind and steps out onto the porch.  On the top step sits a miniature snowman, about a foot tall, made of three small snowballs and two tiny twigs for arms.  A dead leaf is placed on its head like a sort of hat.

 

“Mulder?” she calls.

 

“You got that bath ready?” he says from behind her.

 

Scully whips around as he comes out of the door. 

 

“Went through the back,” he says, off her startled expression.  “I see you met Frosty.”

 

Impulsively, Scully walks straight into Mulder’s chest and puts her arms around him.  He wraps his arms around her and squeezes her tightly.

 

“Wow, Scully, if I knew how much you liked snowmen I would’ve made you a whole village of them a long time ago.”

 

“I hate the snow, Mulder.  I just really hate it.”

 

“Why?”

 

After a few moments, she pulls out of Mulder’s arms and kneels down at the top of the porch.  Her flannel pants are instantly soaked and her knees grow wet and cold.  She scoops up a handful of snow and starts forming a baseball-sized ball.

 

“It was only around two o’clock when we got out of the pediatrician’s office,” she whispers as her hands mold the snow.  “But, it was already dark.  He’d been fussy and feverish and I thought he was teething, but it was a cold.  It started snowing on the way home and I kept telling him look, baby, look at the snow.  It’s snowing.  He was miserable though, and tired, and wouldn’t fall asleep.  It was coming down pretty hard when we finally got home and when I got him out of the car seat, the snow hit his face.  He had a hat on, but he looked up and the snow hit his face and he just hated it.  He hated it so much.  The look on his face…I think he hated  _ me _ .”

 

By the time she finishes speaking, there’s another little snowman next to Frosty and her hands are red and freezing.  Mulder crouches down behind her and folds his fingers over hers.

 

“Come on,” he says.  “Let’s go get warmed up.”

 

“I think about it every time it snows,” she answers, letting him pull her to her feet.

 

“He was a baby.  Next time he saw snow, I’m sure he liked it.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Of course.  I remember snow days when I was a kid.  Sledding, snowball fights, snow angels, snow forts, snowmen, hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows, a fire blazing in the fireplace.”

 

The door bags shut behind them and Mulder pulls Scully’s overcoat off for her.  She shivers.  Her pants are wet and her socks are soaked.

 

“I hope he had all of that,” she says.  “I hope he loves the snow.”

 

“He does, Scully.  Very much.”  He brushes his thumbs over her cheeks and then he takes her upstairs to get warm.

 

The End


End file.
